


Can I Be Real a Second?

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Guilt, M/M, Mistaken for Being in a Relationship, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Slow Burn, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 10:05:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16172882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Washington's distraction grows, and Hamilton refuses to correct a misunderstanding.





	Can I Be Real a Second?

"Are you sure this is the place?" Washington asks, skeptical more because of the dubious look on Hamilton's face than because he harbors real doubt. Uncommon as it is to travel via public transit across a port city—transporter technology usually sidesteps such necessities—he has every confidence in Alexander's ability to guide them to the correct location.

Washington could have done the navigating himself, but he enjoys seeing Hamilton's mind at work. It's far more pleasing to allow his stubborn communications chief to manage the task, so that Washington can watch him unnoticed.

It's a selfish pleasure, if a benign one. There's little point pretending—to himself at least—that he _isn't_ severely compromised. He's never been skilled at self-delusion, and his feelings have only grown more distracting with time. Whether a result of his own recent brush with mortality, or some change that's flown beneath his conscious notice, Washington has lost his ability to tuck this infatuation discreetly away.

He can no longer compartmentalize—separate duty from emotion—where Alexander Hamilton is involved. The best he can do is make sure he doesn't do or say anything overt. Nothing to clue the rest of his crew in on the problem.

Nothing to give Hamilton unwarranted hope for things that cannot and _will not_ happen.

"It's definitely the right address." Hamilton's answer jars Washington from the deep-delving spiral of his thoughts. "The directions were meticulously accurate. This just… isn't what I expected."

Washington can't disagree. Considering the invitation was to a celebratory soiree hosted by Legis IV's diplomatic corps, he expected to be arriving at the front gates of an impressive embassy, or perhaps a large and ornate private residence. The gray, smooth stone before them outlines a building of impressive size, but there are no windows. No hint of light or conversation from inside. It's a drab and uninviting sort of view.

"Well." Washington shrugs and presses the only button beside a deep-set metal door. There is still no sound from within the building—only the noises of life and traffic on the street behind them—and Washington wonders for a moment if there is even anyone here.

Then the metal door slides sideways, and light and sound abruptly flood his senses. There's a short hallway and stairs leading downward from the door. Beyond that, even before they step forward, Washington glimpses light and warmth and movement. Festivity. Dancing.

Music carries through the air, fast and rhythmic.

Beside him, Hamilton grins wide. " _Hell_ yes. This is my kind of party."

Washington does not concur aloud, but his silence agrees. He may not be one for one for dancing and crowded rooms, but he will happily take those things over the stodgy diplomatic banquet he was expecting.

For all his obvious eagerness, Hamilton hangs back and lets Washington lead the way. Follows half a step behind as together they traverse the stairs and short hallway. The door slides smoothly shut behind them, and they emerge into a glittering and expansive ballroom. The dance floor is directly before them, full to bursting with whirling couples in colorful attire.

Before Washington can suggest finding somewhere out of the way to observe the festivities, a familiar figure appears before them in a slightly drunken flourish.

"General Washington!" It's one of the senior members of the diplomatic team—the woman most responsible for a successful petition to join the Federation—radiant in purple skirts and cape, smile eclipsing every other notable feature on her handsome face.

"Madame." Washington gives a slight bow. He startles when he realizes she is carrying two drinks, which he only notices when she shoves them forward in offering. He accepts one clumsily, as beside him Hamilton reacts more gracefully to take the other.

"I'm so glad you came, my dear general," their hostess announces with loud sincerity. "I thought perhaps you wouldn't, but here you are! And you've brought your husband! _Welcome_ , Alexander. It's lovely to see your face."

Washington freezes, begins to correct her after a heartbeat too long. "Madame, Alexander is—"

"— _delighted_ to be here," Hamilton interrupts, grinning a little too wide for the expression to look natural. "Thank you for inviting us."

" _Colonel_ ," Washington hisses, but the censure goes unacknowledged.

"Enjoy the party, gentlemen," their host says. Then she vanishes back into the crowd, gone in an instant and leaving Hamilton and Washington at the edge of the dance floor, more or less alone.

Washington turns wide eyes on his boy and demands, "What the hell are you doing? Now everyone at this party will think—"

"They already think it," Hamilton cuts him off, challenge glinting in dark eyes. "She wouldn't have said it otherwise. What does it matter, anyway? We're never coming back to this planet. We don't know any of these people. We'll be gone by morning, and not a single one of them will give us another thought. Who cares if they think we're something we're not?"

There's an almost biting note in the last question. A painful hint of raw honesty—perhaps more of his hand than Hamilton intended to show—a quiet bitterness that Washington cannot pretend he doesn't understand.

He feels his own expression soften, but Hamilton only scowls in answer.

There is nothing Washington can say. Knowing they're of the same mind—knowing this _wanting_ between them is mutual—does not make acting on their feelings appropriate. Washington's responsibilities remain, somber and crushing. He cannot set his principles aside just because something he covets is so torturously within reach.

"It's just a party," Hamilton says at last. Smoothing his expression. Tilting his head back to meet Washington's eyes once more. "It's _one night_. I'm not trying to mess with your head, I just…"

When Hamilton tapers off, Washington remains silent. Helpless. He will not apologize for doing what's right.

Hamilton's spine straightens and his eyes peer hard into Washington's. "Can't we just pretend for a little while?"

Oh. Oh, this is a disastrous proposition. There is no question what Washington's answer should be. He cannot afford to agree to Hamilton's proposal.

But a moment later he opens his mouth and says, "Okay."

Hamilton's answering smile is startled and wide and worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Accurate, Compartment, Address


End file.
